


Exsanguinate

by apologija, Grimalkin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU: Bloodswap, AU: Non-sgrub, Dystopia, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, bloodswap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apologija/pseuds/apologija, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimalkin/pseuds/Grimalkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On twisted puppet strings the people dance for the sake of vanity, and those left free seek only to indulge this narcissism for the sake of their own. This is a cautionary tale of what happens when someone left free is anything but complacent in a rotten elysium</p><p>They should really be kept away from the little marionettes, or they're liable to cut those strings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Indomitables

**Author's Note:**

> All Art both in this and all future chapters was done by my lovely co-writer, apologija.

**Chapter 1:**

**The Indomitables**

****  
****

An Adult troll sits alone in in his Ruling Quarters. Today happens to hallmark exactly one week prior to the anniversary of his conscription by the count of 3627 sweeps. He leans back in a swivel chair, the few papers on his desk detailing various pieces of information recently gathered by various covert reconnaissance mission.

He feels age beginning to wear itself at his senses, the deterioration at this point is small, almost entirely irrelevant, but it will only be a few hundred more sweeps until he begins to awaken with stiff muscles, and when a thousand or so pass, his strength will start to peel away, revealing long forgotten senses of fragility. His mind will not truly be lost for eons to come, though some would argue it is already half gone.

He prides himself on his great composure, despite inherent flaws of the physiology of indigobloods. The idea of senility instills more fear in him than execution. He has made it this far without a moirail, and while this thought does sadden him to some degree, in all likelihood his fated moirail has long passed on; the chance slipped between his fingers like uncatchable smoke. It also gives him a sense of accomplishment.

Not often do indigobloods find high success when lacking a moirail to act as a stabilizing force, and it is even less often that an indigoblood is able to claim the title of Grand Highblood with no acting moirail to sate the more irrational impulses.

He chuckles. It is not often he gets a chance to reflect on his life, he is often busy with political matters, suppression of lowbloods, managing the subjugglators, coordinating laughsassinations and overseeing the graduation test to threshecutioner ranks. It’s not easy to be held responsible for the land dwelling section of the imperial army, very busy, very busy indeed. He supposes now would be a nice chance to do so.

“Sir?” A voice, wary of addressing a troll of such authority, echoed from the entrance to his Quarters. Damn, he thought he had shut that. Oh well, his reflections would have just been on his rule anyways, why think of the past when matters continue to spring up like weeds daily?

He turned to the voice, adopting an amiable face. The public had a certain expectation of him-- charismatic, kinder than any Grand Highblood before him-- and blissfully ignorant masses are far easier to rule directly; why any of the other Grand Highbloods before him tried ruling on fear alone completely baffles him. It is a personal servant of his, new to the job, that much he can tell. The lime symbol adorning his suit is unfamiliar to him, and upon closer inspection, he looks almost sickly, though that could be just nerves. Clearly it is his first time addressing the Grand Highblood. Brighter light from the hallway filtered in and masked his face, his eyes sharp in contrast against the dull blackness on his face, he waited. Patiently. 

“Yes?” The Grand Highblood swiveled his chair to face the troll, away from his desk. First signs of greying were just beginning to thread themselves in his hair, but his face maintained youth under scattered scars. He hid his fangs when he smiled, which caused his face to juxtapose the deeper of the scars in its softness. He was built strong, sturdy, fit, giving him the overall disposition of a mountain in all but girth. 

The servant bowed his head slightly, giving him an off-kilter look with his horns disbalancing him, but if this affected him at all, it does not show. He looked back up, and carefully avoided the Grand Highblood’s eyes, how formal. “Her Judicious Vindication is on the line sir, she requests your audience immediately.”

“Very well, you are dismissed, ah…? I’m sorry, I do not believe we’ve actually met before.” Rapport built is alliance gained and while he was sure such loyalty of a limeblood would be largely inconsequential, when you do something for 3627 sweeps, habits tend to form.

He hesitated for a moment, only the briefest of half-seconds but still noticeable, reactions such as this were commonplace among the new work. “Seviet Ashara, Sir.” The Grand Highblood allowed his smile to broaden, as if he was pleased with the answer.

“Ah, well, no worries, I’m sure you will earn a title someday, who knows, you might even get one untrodden by ancestral meddlings. Why, I used to have a servant, a little brownblood, who was able to earn herself a title in spite of being a servant all of her life. But, I’ll spare you the monotony of listening to an old man’s ramblings, you must have other matters to attend to. Dismissed, Mr. Ashara.” Simple discourse followed by a dismissive hand wave, plebeians were so easy to sway. 

The servant bowed once more before departing, and the Grand Highblood’s smile left with him. He sighed, and pressed a button under his desk, the wall facing his desk pulling back to reveal a large screen.

After a brief moment, the screen flickered to life, revealing a genetic hybrid of a shark, and a cheshire cat. “And whatever could you want now, your highness? I can’t afford to accept your personal calls at every hour on your supposed ‘request’.” He said, leaning himself over his desk and supporting his head with a hand. “Do you have some unfounded notion that I have a vast supply of free time?”

The Empress herself seemed to be getting prepared to speak at some function or whatnot and being the vain creature she was, was carefully applying rich tyrian lipstick. This little song and dance again, thought the Grand Highblood. He was a politician and commander of legions, not a fashion consultant. The brilliance of the red trimming her goggles offended his eyes. He never understood how that was supposed to make her appear as ‘a friend to all, even lowbloods’ when she was hardly a friend to anything.

...Though, he was hardly one to talk when it came to putting on a kinder facade for the general populace.

The Empress gave a toothy grin, and capped the lipstick, tossing it out into free water behind her shoulder. “Oh come now Kankri, you’ve put up with it since we were little grubs sharing the same shore, surely you must have been desensitized to my frivolities by now?” She proceeded to adjust her crown, a dainty thing of golden laurels with tyrian coral lining it into the centerpiece of her sign. “My crown was recently repaired, I had accidentally scraped the interior with my horn, and I am certain that the fresh chum who did the repairs disbalanced it, and, being the magnanimous empress I am, decided to get your objective thought on it’s status before my righteous judgement is cast.” She finally finished adjusting, leaving it painfully obvious the only disbalance was one of her own creation. The Grand Highblood sighed yet again.

“Is there a legitimate reason you contacted me your Highness?” He turned his attention back to the papers on his desk, trying to adopt an overall look of business, as if such a thing as inconveniencing him would actually shorten the conversation. 

“Hatch names Kankri! Don’t make me give an official order.” She continued to fuss with the obviously flawless piece of royal attire, as if she thought there was still more dressing up to do. 

“Fine.” The Grand Highblood growled, any other troll would never address the empress in such a way unless they wanted a gory public execution, but, there were certain benefits to being a personal… friend of the Empress, along with being the Grand Highblood. “Is there any legitimate reason you contacted me, _Latula_? As In anything that specifically calls for the audience of _The Grand Highblood_? Not beauty tips you could call any subject with half an intact pan for the same damnable vomit of praise.”

She chortled, which caused a few bubbles of air to be released from her nose. “Oh, well fine Kankri, be a ravenous stink beast for all I care. You know, I was just trying to brighten your dreary day with some reminiscing of the old days. I thought it could be a fun way to pass the time until I had to leave for my address. You… do remember fun, don’t you? It’s the opposite of being seaweed crammed into my gills about everything?”

The Grand highblood did not respond.

The Empress’ smile faded into a frown and she turned her nose up, trying to act even more high and mighty. She would eventually learn doing such was a moot point. “Oh fine, fine, I just thought you might like to know something about next week’s conscription. Specifically, that of a beautiful contender for the throne…

“Goodbye Latula.” He waved at the screen, his attention fully diverted to the papers on his desk, and moved a hand towards the button under his desk.

“Or maybe we could talk about your little protege?” The Grand Highblood froze.

The Empress’s grin returned in full force. Hook, line and sinker.

The Grand highblood carefully glared back up at the screen, controlled anger bubbling under his skin. “My little _what_?” he growled. It was not often that the Grand Highblood’s temper would get the best of him, god so help those around when it did, but it was only natural that such a rare sight would be one of the empress’ favorites to behold, within the safety of her own abode at least.

Surprises were not things the Grand Highblood took kindly to. Surprise was just a positive spin on a kink in the plans, kinks in the plan just lead to problems, an uncertain monkey wrench tossed carelessly into flawless clockwork. Some wind up benign, others become _the_ veritable spanner in the works. 

The Empress opted to ignore the Grand Highbloods question in favor of brushing her hair and humming to herself. She needed to savor the moment of uncivil discourse. 

It took exactly five seconds of this blatant attempt to further unravel the Grand Highblood nerves to work. The Grand highblood shot up from his seat and slammed his desk with both hands. “Latula!” He snarled at the screen, the smoothness of his voice discarded for authoritarian demands.

She looked to the Grand Highblood and smiled slyly to herself. “Oh Fine, Oh fine. Calm down Kankri, your scalera’s going all orange.” She took pause for the Grand Highblood to take a deep breath, and even still it was apparent his mental state was currently drowned in agitation. Continuing the prodding and teasing would stop being funny very soon. “I might have ordered our generation’s genetic supply pushed up the list for brooding by a few sweeps is all.”

“Four _centuries._ ” The Grand highblood spat, clicking his fangs together in a restrained show of anger. “That is by no means a few sweeps and you know it.” The Empress chortled. The Grand Highblood’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to make a statement here Latula? I _assure_ you that you will not enjoy my reaction to your toxic implications. Mark my words-”

“Watch your tongue.” The Empress snapped back, her previous frivolity peeling away to reveal an outermost layer of authority; just a fraction of tempered malevolence. The Grand Highblood straightened, and in the same breath the frivolity reapplied itself and she smoothed it with a smile. “Stay your paranoia Kankri, it’s coincidental. Why, I’m insulted that you’d think that I would actually order our generation’s gene pool’s early gestation for your genetics. Do check your ego Kankri, it’s showing.”

The Grand highblood sighed, and let the tension trickle from him, slumping slightly over his desk and tapped it impatiently with a single pointed finger. Click Click Click. She was right. The more unsavory aspects of moirail chastity were showing much to the Grand Highblood’s chagrin. Paranoia and quick temperedness were just mere onsets of a potentially catastrophic lapse in mental fortitude. Visions and whispers playing on his mind was the last thing he needed, especially now that this hefty gem of uncertainty had just been flung carelessly into his careful clockwork by the whims of the royally vain. “Well then what, if I may ask, could possibly be your reason as to why you decided to break the gestation schedule?” He spoke with shaky control on his level tone, as if his words were fire in need of snuffing out yet stubbornly rekindled second after second.

“I got bored.” The empress said. In a scant moment the grand highblood saw the smallest of quirks in her grin. He knew that quirk. He loathed it so because without fail every time it showed up it caused not one spanner to be tossed at his meticulous plans, but a horde.

Anger threatened to seize the Grand Highblood again, but he remained stone faced and resolute, she would not have the pleasure of seeing his calm crack twice in one day. “That was wholly uninformative.”

She rolled her eyes as if she had just witness a wiggler fumble his weapon carelessly. “Oh come on. You know exactly what I’m talking about! Everything has been so impossibly dull for the past few centuries. Did you _see_ the last heiress to the throne? Completely inept. Couldn’t blackmail her way out of sopor, much less handle assassination attempts. Don’t even get me started on her infantile attempts to curry favor with the rustbloods, I was embarrassed to be in the same caste!” She gave a look of exasperation reminiscent of a lusus trying to reign in the antics of a particularly stupid grub but was met with nothing but more stupidity.

The Grand highblood on the other hand, was blatantly not amused. In a surprising show of theatrics, he mocked a yawn. If the empress appreciated the gesture, or noticed at all, she did not comment.

“This has happened for six whole contentions for the crown Kankri. Six! It’s always been a quick and brutal event, like watching insects grapple with a dragon. You’d think it’d be funny, but mostly it’s just pathetic.”

“So?” The Grand Highblood’s attention slowly began to vacillate back to the papers on his desk attempting to organize the somewhat unfocused sprawl of documents as he spoke. “It just secures your role. I don’t see any reason to complain if your contenders are rife with inadequacy.”

The empress rolled her eyes, as if her enigmatic whims followed the most straightforward of logic. “For you maybe you stodgy old crustacean. You still hold on to the idea that you’ve yet to achieve your goals. What, are you supposed to sprout gills so you can rise up to Captain of Royal Guard too? I’ve got nowhere else to go but _down_ since I’m already at the top. Being a beloved queen such as myself gets tiresome. My supremacy is all but absolute, and neighboring races of the cosmos wet their wiggler diapers at the mere mention of my name, so it’s not like wars are exactly on the incoming radar. I almost regret the ruling to end conquest to settle on this dumpy rock.” She almost looked appalled by the idea that she hadn’t the opportunity to curry more adoration from the public by winning her people a war. In reality, she was. 

The Grand highblood continued to sort papers, and let out a small chuckle, his voice had finally leveled in it’s entirely, almost reaching a tone of satisfaction. “Ah, yes, now I see. Judging the last few heirs and heiresses unfit you allowed narcissism to guide your hand and made it so the next heiress would be satisfactory to your conditions of a challenge.”

The empress stood, her gills pulsed with satisfaction, a smugness painted to her face to match. “Good to see the cogs in your pan aren’t _all_ faulty Kankri.”

The Grand Highblood’s lips peeled from his smile, revealing an array of teeth that could generously be called a deathtrap. A small seed of a plan had already begun to take its root in his pan in anticipation of the upcoming migration of young trolls to the homeworld. “How can you be sure she’ll be a challenge? She could be the worst of the lot yet.”

The empress turned from the screen, a plume of inky hair floated listlessly behind her. “Don’t be silly Kankri, she has impeccable genes.” She made a final waving motion, and the screen went dark.

The Grand Highblood studied the last of the papers gone unorganized from his desk. The smallest seed of a plan needed much nurturing before it can begin to bear fruit, that much he knew with certainty.

A week was twice the time he would need, for it’s roots to dig into the soil.

He placed the paper down, and let out an airy chuckle. “Mutant right activists, huh?”

**End of Chapter 1.**


	2. Shit, Let's be Pilgrims

**Chapter 2:**

**Shit, Let’s be Pilgrims.**

 

Even the smallest sections of the Imperial fleet used for the conscription were something of a sight to behold. Several hundreds of ships in total lined up in the dim of the alternian evening. The pink moon tinged their exteriors slightly off-grey, the streamline stripes color coded to blood also were slightly off pitch.

At large, the ships were large, hulking tanks of spacecrafts, meant to carry the masses of lowbloods, and midbloods, but their size and number began to taper off at the color olive. There were two rather small, intimate ships acting as outliers in the situation, one colored with jade, and looked fairly standard, the other, far more excessive and royal, lined with gold and tyrian purple.

For the highbloods, there were few ships. There was only one ship for both indigo and violet, with the indigo ship, smaller than the violet ship. Conscript of this half-sweep had yielded an unusually large amount of violetbloods, nearly twenty had somehow managed to survive to their tenth sweep. Comparatively, the indigo pool was rather shallow this conscription, yielded a mere eleven.

The conscription process had nearly finished, and the final indigoblood on the list of conscription was just finalizing his admission to the ship, at the front loading dock for passengers, his path blocked by a somewhat slovenly fully grown adult holding the young adult indigoblood’s papers that verified his conscription.

In comparison, the indigoblood was a tad... lacking.

“Ain’t you just a touch short to be on the conscriptin’ list here? You ain’t looking much of nothing but a wriggler down there. How old are ya, really? Eight sweeps? Seven?” The conscription agent scratched his chin impassively, lazily reading over the file before him. He shifted the electronic file aside and glanced down at the troll before him.

Said troll, had actually been rubbed into a rather aggressive lather over the gentle hassling that he was receiving, from an uppity _cerulean_ no less, despite remaining visibly nonplussed. His mind, on the other hand, was a small riot of spit obscenities and vengeful fantasies, playing like a vivid movie theatre behind his eyes. “Ten sweeps.” He said. “Ten sweeps, two perigees, and three days, to be exact. The Growth cycle of indigobloods has been known to last for up to the twelfth sweep, which you could have easily known yourself if you received rudimentary schoolfeeding, but it’s quite clear that is not the case.”

The Conscrption agent growled in the back of his throat. “Watch your tongue ya little shit, or someone’s gonna cut it out of your maw.” He turned back down to the file and quirked an eyebrow. “You got live cargo lined up on the trip, but you declined lusus transfer services. Care to explain there, Karkat Vantas?” He glared down at the troll before him throwing a slight sing-song into his voice for additional mockery.

“It’s not my lusus you illiterate claude. Adjust your ganderbulbs about an inch to the left and you’ll see an assortment of letters you seem incapable of arranging into cognizant thought. Said letters explain my lusus is a 50 foot tall behemoth with the single worst temperament in custodial history.” Karkat barked at the cerulean, taking an advancing step forward with his sharp words. It was quite lucky for the conscription agent that his strife deck was currently in processing, or else a brawl would have erupted that the other was likely unprepared for.

The conscription Agent narrowed his eyes. Karkat caught the subtle shifts in his position meant to better prepare for an attack. “Then what _are_ you haulin’ wit-”

“On the fucking file!” Karkat cut him off, taking back the step he advanced himself with and turning to the side. Deep breaths. Now was not the time to fuck up and get detained for assaulting an officer.

The Cerulean eyed him briefly before shifting focus to the file once more, tapping the screen a few times. What he saw was nonetheless surprising. “Servant? We got ships prepped for legally acquired Indents, why you shovin’ him off in a crate?”

Karkat rolled his eyes and scoffed. “What, so that my servant can get locked behind a wall of red tape if he so much as sneezes in the wrong direction? Or better yet, gets wound up in some sort of disaster of a servant riot and gets culled? I have no desire to have my servant taken away because of his own startling idiocy.”

“Some case of paranoia ya got there.” the Conscription agent muttered as he signed off on Karkat’s file. As soon as he was finished, Karkat ripped the file from his hands, and glared at the conscription agent, getting his face as close to the other as physically possible with the height disparity

“Its not paranoia. Its preparedness.” He hissed, turning on his heels and walking around the conscription agent, nearly brushing his shoulder, but simply passing by a half inch.

The interior of the ship contradicted it’s sleek exterior, being lavished in various high-end appliances that felt foreign to the otherwise streamline ship. There was a fucking sink in the hallway with little towelettes, presumably to tidy up one’s appearance prior to entering the passenger's chamber. There was even a cup of fang-scrapers. Lights hummed over his head in a dim light green. High-end paintings hung from the walls of the hallway, as if to bring a semblance of class to the otherwise standard ship. There were even mirrors on the wall, which Karkat sneered at.

It was obvious that whoever ordered this ship to be prepared for the conscription of indigos had an excess of vanity.

Finally, he reached the entrance to the passenger chamber. A set of double doors presented before him, painted indigo, with a centerpiece of the royal sign of the empress acting as if it were a gaudy lock on the doors, no handles visible in sight. Off to his right, there was a slit in the wall, with a sign above the read “INSERT FILE”.

He pushed the thin slab of electronics through the slit in the wall, and heard as someone picked it up almost immediately. After a brief pause, a dull crackle of a speaker snapped to live, and a pleasant female voice spoke up. “Welcome, Karkat Vantas. We will be departing in just a few minutes, please help yourself to the refreshments and food provided, the supply is unlimited during our journey. We should be arriving about seven hours after departure. Strife decks will remain confiscated until arrival, and will then be returned to you along with any other belongings so you may relocate to your new hive.” the speaker crackled back off.

After a brief pause, the double doors cracked open slightly, before fully retracting, revealing the interior of the passenger's chambers. The room was unnecessarily ornate, complete with a chandelier and velvet seats painting the periphery of the room, as well as being scattered around the center coupled with small tables. The lights were slightly brighter in this room, this time without the green dim to muffle them. The far side of the room had a large table, with a vast supply of food, high quality and very nutritious, no doubt. Karkat wasn’t hungry.

The ten other indigobloods were scattered throughout the room. About five of them clumped around the food table, two females seemed to be enjoying some herbal drink at a table together, the other three were sitting alone about the room, with one enjoying the view through a large window that spanned almost the entire length of the wall.

The room had a distinct silence that was easily discerned as freshly made by his entrance into the room, and nearly all of the trolls were looking at him, some in more subtle ways than others, and some quickly lost interest, while others continued to stare.

Unflinching, Karkat only stood in the doorway for a moment before entering, quickly proceeding to sit down in a window seat far from where the other indigobloods were. They stared still, as if they were expecting something from him to determine how they felt about him. He scratched a scar on his cheek once, and uncaptchelogged one of the only things he was allowed to keep for the journey: a book on the history of trollkind, and promptly buried his nose in it. Noise returned to the room, though it was mostly muttering for now, hushed tones that soon grew back into casual dialog.

By happenstance, he had opened his book to a page detailing the history of what he intended to become: A Subjugglator. It detailed the page in history when the role of the subjugglator became what is today, as opposed the the draconian role it took prior to the reign of Her Judicious Vindication, while under the rule of the last empress. It was at this time that a new Grand Highblood was named, the youngest in history. Of course, as with all history books supplied to the young trolls of alternia, both his name, sign, and appearance were censored.

He could admire the preparedness of the empire in this regard. If it was common knowledge on Alternia who did certain heroic or infamous actions, descendents could be the target of many other trolls trying to relive ancestral grudges. Even so, Karkat found this level of information disclosure a tad unnecessary.

The role of the subjugglator had once been to oppress the lowbloods and end uprisings at all costs, but with the coronation of Her Judicious Vindication, much of troll society changed. The lowbloods were no longer object of open contempt in public forum, the lowbloods gained political voice, and most of all, the settling of the empire to a new homeworld had all but sated the lowblood quarrels with the empire. Becoming largely inert, many military positions nature was changed, but none more than the subjugglator. Subjugglators became more peacekeepers than oppressors, protecting the populace from unscrupulous individuals or small groups across the new homeworld, as well as politicians to bridge the gap between land and sea dwelling trolls.

Having already read this history of the subjugglators many time, he turned to what he thought was the most fascinating aspects of history; the great rebellions of long ago. The strategies employed by the great leaders of each battle were always so revolutionary, they overshadowed the rebellions themselves. It was often Karkat wondered what would have become of the empire if just one of these leaders had defected to the rebellion.

In all likelihood, the empire would be totally different, if it still existed at all.

After a few minutes of indulging in tactical greatness, the hum of a motor sounded from deep within the ship, and not a second spared, a speaker crackled to life, this time, a different, far more stern, voice filled the air ready to recite a canned speech. “Greetings, future leaders of our empire. We congratulate you on your survival to your tenth wriggling day, and with it, your acceptance into the full troll society. The travel time to our homeworld, under optimal conditions, is about seven hours. In the meantime, do not under any circumstances, bar catastrophic systems failure, leave the passenger's quarters. In the event of catastrophic systems failure, escape pods will be deployed from the floor. Please do not trample your fellow passengers in this event. Fighting will not be tolerated; any attempt to initiate strife will result in forced evacuation through the ship’s disposal port into the vacuum of space. Thank you for your cooperation during our pilgrimage.” The voice clicked off.

The troll nearest him with the window seat apparently found this humorous, and let out a slight chuckle. Karkat ignored him. He pressed onward into his indulgence, seven hours would be more than enough time to finish the rebellion section. The ship swayed slightly as it lifted off the ground. His time on the nursery planet, on alternia, was over.

 

\---

 

Nearly seven hours into the flight, Karkat had long since finished reading about the rebellions of old, and had managed to find himself quite content in staring idly out of the window into the recesses of space. The ship was rapidly approaching the solar system the homeworld was located in, one far more hospitable than the alternian solar system. In this solar system, daylight was still reasonably dim, though night was also comparatively slightly darker, or so he had heard. He could adjust.

The Inidigobloods in the room had long ago left the huddle around the food table, and dispersed around the room in small groups, chattering about in excitement for their arrival on the homeworld, but they left Karkat alone, so he couldn’t be bothered to care.

Unfortunately for him, he was put into a position of being bothered to care, as he heard someone take a seat next to him.

"Hey, bratty.” The unknown indigo said. “You lay a viddy on the lot of those gloopy nazz congregating by the spread over yonder?" Karkat turned to meet a grin made of needles callously passed off as teeth (not that he could talk about absurd dentistry). He had this tuft of bangs that was obnoxious just for existing, but the rest of his hair was cut close to his scalp, and he looked far too comfortable considering how close he was to karkat.

Karkat’s expression twisted into something beyond the scope of confusion and into an entirely different realm of emotiation of disbelief. He stared at the indigo, taken back by not only his demeanor, but the amalgamation of words and half-words he seemed to think was a sentence. “What?” he craned his neck slightly as if it was possible he misheard. “Was that even a sentence?” His lip was curled in preemptive disgust for any answer.

Annoyance flashed over the stranger's features at the response he recieved, heaving a sigh and drumming his fingers against his knee.

"I said, hey, did you see those fools over by the food. I know I wasn't chumbling at you, so get that in your gulliver, my brother." He shook his head, and continued. "Now what is this malenky tome you're reading? Are you by chance shoving a bit of knowledge in your mozg, or viddying up a most grazhny bit of literature, my friend?" His tone was light, polite and sickeningly chipper as he spoke, the words tumbling from the indigoblood’s scarred lips.

Karkat was used to having to deal with brazen abuse of basic grammatical competence on a fairly regular basis, but this was somethign that took the cake. Even though a debauchery of jumbled grammar actual words were used, Karkat doubted this troll had even used real words when he spoke. He leaned away from the other, looking as if it physically pained him to be close. “Listen, I have no idea what the fuck you are on about. I’m pretty sure you’re not even speaking an actual language, let alone using real words, so just talk like your head isn’t crammed into the inner folds of your nook, or don’t talk to me. Or anyone else. Ever. It would be a kindness to all trollkind.”

"Fuck moodge, I'm just asking about your damn book. You've just been reading it for hours, no need to get sarky with me, brother." Though the stranger tried to shrug it off, there was clear annoyance on his face, but by the time he opened his death trap of a mouth open to speak, it had melted away in favor of a smile. "Anyways, Denebe Kaitos. Would you so kindly grace me with your illustrious eemya, my brother? Perhaps get to know each other, spill a little krovvy in honor of our future bond as the closest droogs." he tilted his head sideways, almost as if he though that would endorse his proposal

Karkat was beginning to lose his patience startlingly quickly, and losing his cool at this moment would be among the worst case scenarios to end all other worst case senarios.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, despite your best efforts to sound completely incoherent, you actually are capable of making quick bursts of coherence. This is a good thing.” He slapped his hand to his forehead, and dragged it down his face slowly allowing it to linger over his mouth. “Despite this, you still seem to be incapable of maintaining this coherence, or understand what I’m telling you. Is it really so hard for you to talk like a decent person for an entire sentence? If you can’t scrounge up the decency necessary to perform this impossibly simple task, for fucks sake, go bother to someone else.”

"Oi, I'm not trying to filly about with you, my brother. Can't you at least give me your fuckin' name?" Denebe's arms crossed over his chest as he stared Karkat down. "Fuckin' rude of you to act the grahzny bratchny and eschew pleasantries in favor of criticism. I'm not here to engage in a verbal bitva with the likes of you, moodge. I’m merely extending a hand of droogship, though apparently a nadmenny asshole like you is unable to pony on the ramifications of such a sammy gesture."

It was a very slow process, but eventually Karkat did begin to understand the broken language the other troll seemed intent on using.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s fucking rude to expect people to understand whatever the fuck it is you’re trying to say, if you’re even trying to _say_ anything of importance at all. It’s not exactly the best way to make your little droogship, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to be, and it’s sure as hell not anything I personally find to be anything but a slow grind of an axe on my thinkpan.” He made two quick raps on his head to further his point.

Karkat heaved a harsh sigh. “I think you don’t really understand the difference between ‘friendly’ and ‘impossibly annoying’, you’re falling hard into the latter category.” Karkat’s patience for this Denebe was quickly thinning and the unstable matter underneath the skin of decorum was becoming increasingly volatile by the moment and threatened to turn to a boil.

Denebe waved Karkat off a bit flippantly, smiling, but it was painted on now, with no genuine intent behind it. "Come now, brother! There's no reason to get up in arms over a bit of good natured fun! No point souring this fine meeting with your merzky disposition." He shifted a bit closer, his legs uncrossing, his demeanour growing serious as opposed to maliciously good cheer. "So what's your moniker, bratty? Your name, your aspirations! Are you giddying up and making a time of it with Subjugglations, or do you've got something else picking on your rasoodock?" His eyebrows bounced around, though that somehow just repulsed Karkat further.

This time he actually understood his question in full. Humoring him would be simple enough compared to trying to push him any further way without physically being allowed to do so, it’s not like there’s much of a chance of meeting often if at all once they arrived at the homeworld anyway. It’s a pretty big planetl. “Ugh, whatever. I’m becoming a subjugglator, literally any other job is either not suited to my capabilities or a total waste of my time. And the name is Karkat, not ‘brother’. You /don’t/ get to call me ‘brother’ because we are nothing of the sort.” Karkat grimaced. The conversation was reaching levels that could easily be described as physically painful to him with the other’s incessant nature. He could deal with it, how much longer is the trip supposed to be anyways? Minutes?

Even still, Karkat would sure it would feel like hours.

"It's fine, Karkat. Should I be one to offer you an appypolly loggy for bandying that term about with nary a messel?" Diplomacy met sarcasm; light, fluffy, and saccharine sweet in tone of voice and the smile he wore, finally finding the ground to hold some genuine emotion behind it, but Denebe didn't linger on the previous topic. "Subjugglation, eh? There's no shame in that, bratty! You've got the look of one carved all over that morder of yours. I've been considering becoming an Interrogutter myself. Use a bit of oomny tactics, a little pressure here, a shive there... Next thing you know they're all poogly and ready to spill everything they know, lest you oobivat them. Oops, sorry about that, friend!" He broke into laughter following, that deathtrap of teeth gleaming in the light. Karkat was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to kill interrogation subjects.

Karkat groaned. He was quickly developing a deep and platonic hatred for the contemptuous word vomit denebe seemed to enjoy blurting in otherwise annoying chipper but acceptable sentences. He wasn’t sure if the other had insulted him or paid him a compliment about trying to be a subjugglator. He had the distinct feeling that there was a short joke wormed into his festering compilation of half-words, but he let the feeling slide, for once.

“Fine, congratulations, be the best damn interrogutter your vascular pump can desire.” His tone started flat but became all the more agitated as he progressed. “Become supreme master of all interrogations for all I care, make lawbreakers quiver at the mere mention of your name out of pant-shitting fear that one day they might bag you as their interrorgutter. The entire world is your fucking interrogation room, make the people sing to you their deepest secrets or scrawl them on walls with their blood, and all this and more can be yours if you focus your time on that sole purpose and less of it on talking to people who were perfectly content on never even knowing about your existance.” Karkat rolled his eyes and crossed his arm, tapping his foot impatiently for the other’s hopeful retreat, even if the chances seemed so pathetically slim.

If this didn’t get him to shut up, then there was a possibility the next sound Denebe would make would be the sound of fangs rattling in a mouthful of blood. Karkat looked away.

And the other troll did shut up, but for a mournfully short amount of time. He stared at Karkat in stunned silence before the vomit of words began to flow.

"Fuck bratty, listen to that slovo dribbling out of your rot! I haven't been privy to shoom like that in awhile." He shook his head in mild disbelief. "If you've got even an inch of bite where that sodding bark is, you might get me feeling a manner of spoogy. What a fuckin' yahzick you've got."

Hardly before Denebe could finish his sentence, karkat snapped. “What the _fuck_ did I just say you pan-rotten sludge-mouthed ex--” However before karkat could turn to face Denebe with teeth gnashed into a snarl, the crackle of a speaker roused up realization to the tumultuous state he had worked into. His first were already curled, nails digging into his skin ever so slightly as if in preparation for a fight he did not want.

He forced them to open and relax. He was cool, calm and collected. He was not going to get this far and just get dumped into deep space.

“Attention passengers, we would like to inform you that Novorbis is visible in your passenger's window located in your quarters. We will be landing on the homeworld in exactly five minutes. At this time you may begin to file out of the passenger's quarters, but in the meantime, please enjoy the view at your leisure.” The sound crackled away, and the doors of the passenger's quarters opened.

The other inidgos in the room chose to ignore this, and rushed over to the window, peering out at the planet. Karkat glanced through the window, trying to pointedly ignore the ten other indigoes in the process. A multi colored marble blanketed in swaths of white, Karkat could see the smallest of it’s three moons, a meager thing, smaller than the pink moon of alternia.

He quickly lost interest with the view.

Karkat stood as the other gazed at the planet, and made a beeline for the door of the passenger's room.

He had no idea what had gotten into him when it came to Denebe, usually he’d been able to stay more or less calm in the face of startling idiocy. Perhaps the pilgrimage was stressing his systems out with such a drastic change. He wasn’t sure, but he just assumed that was the most reasonable solution, even though it definitely wasn’t.

He passed through the double doors of the passenger's quarters and stumbled. The corridors had changed. Now instead of a winding pathway straight down from the passenger's quarters, there was a sharp turn right. He approached the wall warily. There were no signs of an opening along it’s cold metal, and the interior decorations of the ship were made to match the current design.

Nothing is quite as it seems, he thought, as he abandoned the wall to continue down the hall.

This hall was quite different from the one he had walked to get to the passenger’s quarters. It was far more regal. There was indigo capeting, exoitic plants the like of which he had never seen, frivolous lights with ornate carvings, several grey sculptures, where only the signs were etched in rich indigo stone.

He appreciated one or two, blissfully unaware he was passing through a hall painted with the stone forms of generations of Grand Highbloods. It was quite fortunate for him that the walls were only decorated with the memorials of the old Grand highbloods, or he would have gotten quite a start.

However, the sculptures did manage to provoke a passing thought about his ancestor. He knew that it was not uncommon for indigobloods to fall under the watchful eye of their ancestor upon conscription, it was somewhat customary. Not that it really mattered in the end, highbloods conscripted without an ancestor to speak of on the homeworld would be assigned a different mentor of their caste.

Of course, Karkat would like to know if he was going to go through a growth spurt this side of ever, so having his ancestor still around would be useful in that regard. Otherwise, he didn’t really care either way. Not anymore.

As he progressed down the hallway, the sculptures began to adopt a look of wear. Some were clearly centuries upon centuries old, and the facial features of some had lost their definition, becoming nothing but a vague ghost of a likeness.

It was not long before he came face to face with the conscription agent from earlier, slouched up against a wall next to a closed door. How predictable. He straightened slightly when he noticed karkat approaching him, though he was keen to make a show of how much having to be roused annoyed him.

Karkat returned the favor, and made it quite obvious that he took no pleasure in having to deal with the cerulean again.

“Okay, here’s how it works;” he grumbled, shifting his attention to a rack on the wall and searching it a bit with his finger.  “I give you your file back-- don’t fuckin’ lose it, ya wait for us to land, ya get off at the central Novorbis transit station. There’s gonna be some announcements from the Gee’eich over the intercom in the main station, after ya listen to them,on your file there’s gonna be the information for your ticket credit. That ticket’ll grant you a ride on a single-passenger glideskimmer and that will take you to your new hive. Your shit should be arriving ‘round when you do.”

He pulled a file out from the rack and shoved it into karkat’s hands. “You got all that? ‘Cause there ain’t damn way in hell I’m repeating it for you, wriggler.” He pressed a button he was standing in front of on the wall behind him, and the door opened.

Karkat shot the conscription agent a dirty look before stomping through the door, and it immediately snapped shut behind him. Asshole nearly clipped his backside.

This room was simple. Just basic military grade chairs and dim lighting. A door was opposite to him. A dim red light was glowing in it’s center, and he assumed that meant it was locked. Above the door there were steadily declining numbers indicating the attitude of the ship. Right now they were easing down for the last 3,000 or so feet.

The room hummed ever so slightly. The engine was close, or at least much closer than it was in any other location he had been to.

He heard a soft hiss from nearby. The ship was decompressing in preparation for landing, the sweet sound of mechanisms falling into place gave Karkat a decent enough distraction as the ship rolled downward. The light on the door across from him has changed from red to a light orange.

More hissing, more clatter, the ship was slowing down and he could feel it. Karkat glanced up at the attitude clock.

100 feet.

He straightened a stepped towards the door. Anticipation gnawed on his gut in a sudden bloom of last-minute nerves. It’s natural for him to feel a slight unease, he’d been waiting for his pilgrimage since he had wriggled out of his pupa, that’s an absurd amount of anticipation.

Though, he never quite anticipated breaking one of the biggest laws in the book while doing so. That managed to give him an instant double helping of  anxiety.

There was a slight shudder throughout the ship. He looked up at the Attitude clock, it read zero.

The light on the door turned green and it opened automatically with a hiss. Karkat wasted no time in stepping through.

Novorbis was, simply put, the opposite of what he had grown accustomed to on alternia. It was daytime, going by how bright it was, and he squinted in the sunlight that was so alien to him. The transit center was gleaming in pleasantly pale colors, light blue lights flickered about. It took him a moment to realize that it was encased in glass, beyond the open port he was in, rather than it being open to the elements entirely. It’s design looked so much more sleek and frivolous than alternian structures, which always put necessity before all else. Most didn’t have anything beyond the bare-bones at all.

He looked down, and there was a set of stairs at his feet, that he stared dumbly at for just a moment before taking that first step down, still squinting at the brightness, even on the ground.

He looked around him. This was his first time to see a true city, a marvel compared to the clusters of communal hives that dotted alternia. Everything reached to the sky as if it was built to exceed the atmosphere. Bright lights flickered even in the day, advertising products that he’d never even heard of before now.

Was that... a non-mint fangpaste advertisement? He was going to need to look into that, mint always made him wretch.

There were trees, sparse in their numbers, but in odd colors, with light aqua leaves, and greyish trunks, though he did see a few familiar trees found on alternian forests. It became apparent to him that he was still quite high up, and he could see crowds of trolls below. He realized the altitude clock was likely nothing of the sort, or incredibly faulty.

“Greetings, my fellow indigobloods.” A voice boomed from inside the transit center, it’s tone reeked of scripting. Karkat stepped off the stairs  and continued towards the center of the the glass globe of the transit center. He lessened his squint, and could make out what looked like an intercom in the center of the dome.

“It is my distinct pleasure to welcome you to Novorbis, and to congratulate you on your first steps into adult society.” The voice continued. Karkat perked his ears to listen. Something about the voice seemed so familiar but just not so. It felt ancient, rich, smooth, and weathered, but strong. He couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity that he couldn’t quite place.

“I am the Grand Highblood, your leader of the land, and dutiful general. I will be brief. You have already been processed as Novorbian citizens during your pilgrimage, and as such, Novorbian laws has been applied to your status. Remember that random acts of violence is not tolerated in Novorbian law as it was in Alternian law. Please do not maim random citizens. I hope you studied the pilgrimage help materials Novorbian lawbook, as there are no warnings.”

Karkat glanced down at the file, on it there was a small flashing envelope. He tapped it once, and an electronic ticket flickered on the screen.

“On your electronic file, there should be a message indicator, the message will act as your ticket to board a personal glideskimmer. Please, once you have listened to the announcements,  you will use it to get a ride from the glideskimmers to your right, which will bring you to your hive. If you had sent in plans for a redesigned hive on Novorbis, it will have already been completed, if you neglected to do so, your alternian hive design was used to build your new one.” Karkat looked off to the right, and sure enough there were several docks of personal glideskimmers waiting.

“Once you have arrived at your new hive, you will be given the day to settle into your new hive, and arrange furniture as you please. Appropriate furnishings will have been place in the appropriate rooms if you labeled your hive design properly. If not, they were left outside your hive.” Karkat wondered if there actually was anyone slovenly enough to not properly label their architectural designs. He couldn’t think of a self-respecting, literate troll who wouldn’t.

“Tomorrow, you will begin your skill assessment so you might better choose a career more suited to your capabilities.” Karkat snorted at that. There was an unwritten rule that all indigobloods joined the imperial forces in some manner, to not do so would be a disgrace. Any indigo who was so blind to their skills would have already died on Alternia, and if anyone was stupid enough to try not to join the army, they would become an outcast immediately. “A second Glideskimmer will arrive at nine in the morning sharp. Do not miss it. Until then, dismissed, please leave promptly, as the navybloods are awaiting usage of the transit center.”

There was a brief pause, and the message began to loop.

Karkat hazarded to fully open his eyes. The light was still unforgiving to him, but it was manageable. He thought he hear some clamor behind him, and didn’t stick around long enough to look at whoever was there. He moved to the nearest glideskimmer. It was fairly small, just a cockpit and a spacious passenger's seat, with plenty of room to lounge. It floated a foot or so off the ground, and it’s sleek wings were lined with pulsing light blue energy.

The glideskimmer pilot nodded slightly to him as Karkat approached, though, the polite acknowledgement was in vain, as it just made the sun reflect off his helmet’s  visor into karkat’s eyes. Karkat grimaced.

“Ti-” He started to say, but Karkat was a step ahead of the other troll, already shoving the file into his face.

“Why the fuck is this ticket even necessary? Any half-brained lusus can determine blood color just by looking, what the fuck is preventing you?” Karkat snapped, returning to his squinting.

The other troll did not respond to Karkat’s aggressive tones, but instead let a pause pass through so he might be certain the conversation was not going to be connected to Karkat’s comment. He grabbed the file from Karkat’s hand, gave it a quick once-over, and nodded to Karkat. “Please board sir, watch your step, the flight should only take about 45 minutes for your destination.”

Karkat grumbled, but makes a shaky boarding without a word.

 

\---

 

The Pilot was quite hasty to depart after Karkat had taken his first step off the glideskimmer, and Karkat couldn’t really blame him. He had treated the pilot to a rather underserved slurry of verbal abuse and complaints at frankly microbial annoyances and inconveniences.

The whispers were starting to play on his pan, and he could feel a headache trying it’s best to bloom in his pan with all the /light/ burning into his pan. It’s as if the pilot had gone out of his way to fly around the other glideskimmers (likely transporting other highbloods) so that karkat would get beamed with as much glare as possible, something Karkat actually accused him of, and got no response from.

He was left at the front entrance to his new hive. He frowned. He had expected it to be built with the say greystone that his hive had been built from, but, like much else on Novorbis, the drones that built it seemed to have a thing for metal and glass. He was pretty goddamn sure the windows were larger than he had specified in the blueprints.

The Hive was a giant thing, even the other nearby hives were somewhat smaller (Karkat estimated his neighborhood consisted of mostly hues of blue and maybe another indigo somewhere. His was built on an overhang near a pond, just as his optimal condition location as per his request, though he had said lake in his geographical request forum.

He looked up, and there were stacks of overhangs above him. He immediately noticed that his neighbor above him had an abundance of plants, some hanging vines far too well-manicured to be wild.

His hive was only about three stories tall, but it was solid, there were many many blocks for each floor. Perhaps a bit more space than he really needed, it was much more space than his old hive, but more unassuming than his old castle-like hive, from the front at least. If his blueprints had been followed correctly, there should be more to the hive left unseen from the outside.

He pushed open the door, the normal door, he thought double door entrances were pretentious and gaudy, hesitating a moment before he walked in. The whispers were growing more urgent in his pan, and though words still failed for form, the shape of the sounds were already there and beginning to edge him into unease.

Or maybe his unease was drawing out the voices, he wasn’t sure.

He did a quick glance around the room to make sure there wasn’t anything completely asinine with the furnishings that needed immediate correction. Nothing seemed to be upside down or anything, to he kept walking straight ahead into the heart of his hive.

He quickly made his way to the most out of the way room imaginable towards the back of the hive through not quite in the back just yet, down a long hallway with many unnecessary turns to it. Inside the room, there was only a recuperacoon, and a large wooden crate.

Karkat sighed heavily, trying his best to compose himself.

He then proceeded to dig his claws into a lip on the top of the crate, and completely rip it off and toss it against a wall. With the day he’s had, that felt disgustingly relieving.

After a brief delay, spindly arms reached out of the crate, along with a small grunt of pleasure, extended upwards, fingers stretching out. They fell back into the crate, and a moment later, the rest of the troll rose out from the crate, back to Karkat, still stretching his long limbs. There was a dusting of wood shavings in his wild mane of hair, and there was one impaled on the top of one of his spiraling horns, how that got there was anyone’s guess.

“Nothing happened, right?” Karkat asked, drawing the attention of the much taller troll, as if he had just realized a person had to have violently ripped his crate open. He turned to Karkat slowly, staring at him with bright rusty eyes for just a half second  before grinning just shy of shit-eating.

He turned his head slightly, looking around the room for a moment before leaning forward and pulling Karkat into a tight hug. “ ‘Sall good brother. All things gone unhitched and unhindered on this end.”

Karkat wasted little time in returning the gesture, whispers quelling oh so slightly to leave room for a sense of relief. “Good.” He sighed, and pulled away from the hug. The other troll let him slip out with no resistance, his grin softened to a warmer one to meet karkat with before his eye twitched and his smile faded into an uncomfortable grimance and made a swipe at his eye.

“Motherfuck though, these lenses got themself all rude on my eyes bro, can I be stowin this shit?” he rubbed at his eye, and Karkat scowled.

“Gamzee, no, you have to keep those in for a while, I don’t know how pilgrimage adjustment programs work. They could just be during my work hours or some random conscription agent could stomp his ass right in here at any random time and lo’ and behold he spies a freakish mutant with blood so bright it could practically light stars on fire.” Karkat scoffed, earning him a pout from Gamzee. He looked away in spite of himself. He realize a few seconds too late he could have omitted the freakish portion.

“But bro they got this wicked burn-tingle all runnin-”

“No fucking ‘but bro’ Gamzee. Just drop it before I have to sow them to your ganderbulbs.” Karkat snapped.

Gamzee made a disarming gesture at Karkat, before pulling himself out of the crate, and giving Karkat a careful look-over. “You got your insides all twisted out on account of this shit?” He cocked his head to the side slightly. His eyes burned into Karkat, the heat of what hid underneath the rusty coloring was too intense to me muffled by such impurities.

“Well we only could have been both arrested and likely dumped into the vacuum of space if anything had gone awry in a situation where I had a painfully weak sway on the outcome, the fuck do you think Gamzee?” He worried his bottom lip with his fang, threatening to break the skin. This was not the reunion from their brief separation he had imagined, however, his mood was a slave to the quantity of the whispers clogging his pan. While at the moment they were still wordless sounds of letters trying to arrange themselves, it was still incessant.

Gamzee studied the smaller troll for a second before cupping the back of his head and pulling him into his chest without a word. He noticed the ill mood. He could always notice. After a moment of hesitation, Karkat nuzzled his face into a more comfortable position, and sighed, stress from the day slowly leaking out of him.

This was his dirty indiscretion. A complete disregard for the most basic of laws set forth for all trolls, and the one that would easily land him the most unforgiving punishments that could be imagined.

His moirail, a mutant, had just been smuggled across seven solar systems thanks to him.

And this would come to be known as the first of many acts of great treason committed by Karkat Vantas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the crippling lateness, this was intended to be out about a month ago, but circumstances kept It away. Shouldn't happen again.
> 
> Apologija did the wonderful art, as per the norm because she's just awesome.
> 
> Oh no, GamKar, well, to be fair, you should have known this was going to happen, I am a notoriously self-indulgent bastard.


End file.
